


to the dying woman

by egare



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amnesia, Drabbles, Gen, Second Person, whY WOULD YOU SEND THE INQUISITOR TO HIS DEATH- a solution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 05:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13540875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egare/pseuds/egare
Summary: Everyone is kind to the dying woman.





	to the dying woman

_The sky grew dark. And the ground began to tremble as if in mortal dread._  
_The crowd before the gates, both Tevinter and faithful, fell silent._  
_The heavens wept, and yet no rain could extinguish the flame_  
_Which was now a funeral pyre. Wind swept across the city_  
_Like a terrible hand in rage. And the Tevinters who witnessed this_  
_Said: "Truly, the gods are angered."_

_\- Apotheosis 2_

i. kindness

Heels clicking, back straight. Do not let them see weakness, do not bring their attention to your shaking hands. Do not let their eyes waver from your retreating back, from where the tension in your body is not visible under your clothes.

Your clothes, tattered, bloodied and dirty and no long wearable after all of this is done. Not that you expected anything different. (How could anyone expect this? A demon army, attacking Haven?)

"You are a simple Dalish hunter, my dear, and I am the First Enchanter of the Imperial Court. I do believe that I have you bested in the 'eye-catching' aspect of this suicidal plan."

The Inquisitor is upset with your refusal to follow his instructions. He orders you to run but you stand tall, fearless as you face against the elf you swore yourself to. He is not convinced, and forces the hand of his companions. He is dragged away by Leliana, who looks at you in a new light.

If you survive this- when you survive this- you must make sure that light is snuffed out before anyone goes getting any ideas. You are cold and unwavering, not... kind. Not idealistic.

Not a martyr.

Sera calls out to you before she goes, and she is hesitant and shifting on her feet, looking to the world as if she wished to go out and fight that dragon rather than speak to you. She is no friend, but in that moment, past relationships did not matter. Everyone is kind to the dying woman.

"You gonna come back after all this, yeah?"

"Naturally, my dear."

And for a moment, everyone believes you.

ii. confrontation

You are grace and power hidden in the simple body of a mortal mage as you leave the Chantry, not looking back. Cassandra, Solas, and Varric accompany you to the trebuchet because they are the least likely to try to stop you- the Inquisitor is being held behind screaming as you lead the three, slaying any red templars in your way with personal pleasure, burning down those that dare to try and stop Madame de Fer.

The Knight-Captain is dead on the snow when you hear the first roar. You chose Cassandra, Varric, and Solas because they are the three least likely to stop you- you are right about the latter, and Varric shifts but stays silent, but the Seeker.... she is giving you a look of pity.

You do not need her pity.

"Someone has to distract this fool, don't they?" You ask, answering her unspoken questions. All four of you want to believe there is another way, but there isn't. "Go. Go!"

And they go. And you are alone. You are alone for only a few moments before a wave of magic sends you flying back, toppling to the ground in a way that would have killed you if your magic was not quick enough.

You lift yourself from the ground because there is nothing else to do. You cannot play dead, that is not a distraction worthy of the Inquisition. You have a countdown in your head of the time it takes to get to the Chantry, and it is ticking down but not fast enough. Certainly the dramatic slow entrance is giving everyone sufficient time.

iii. appearances

The Game taught you that appearances matter more than real power. You know this abomination can kill you in an instant, but it does nothing, because it sees a power you do not actually have.

The ground shakes and a dragon is bounding up to your left, but this monster has your eyes and your eyes alone, even as you stumble, even as you straighten back up.

"Mortal." It greets, as its dragon roars behind you and you do not look back. It knows that you know who is truly in control, giving a grin that looks more like a grimace at the fact that you are intelligent. "You follow the pretender, and stay behind when it will most certainly lead to your death. He has an allegiance he does not deserve."

Back straight, staff in two hands, do not let them know you are but a simple peasant girl. It speaks the truth, you know you will die after it is done with its monologue, but you can only hope that you take it out with you.

"You stand with pride and a lack of fear. If you spoke of your bravery, I would have doubted your capabilities. If you hurled words into the darkness that terrifies you, that once terrified me, I would have laughed. Yet you simply stand here." It stops, most likely for dramatic effect, and you think that the monster would fit in well in Orlais. “Know me, mage. Know what your leader has pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus. You will kneel to me, not to the pretender."

"I kneel to no one."

Your voice is quieter than you wish, and it knows you are not at your full potential, winded and afraid. It inches forward and its dragon ensures you remain in place, and you strain your neck to meet the eyes of this 'Corypheus.' It studies you and you think for a moment that its magic can be cast through eyes, but you do not feel any pull, mental or physical, that makes you want to submit.

"Your pride will be your downfall.” It states, as if you do not already know that, “I will not waste my time attempting to convince a single mortal of her wrongdoings. You have one last chance to bow, and I suggest you take it."

Your silence and your lack of movement speak louder than any words you can say, and it lifts you by the neck, not caring for the choked sounds that escape. It hurls you like a child with a doll, and you feel your bones scream in protest as you hit the trebuchet, staff abandoned, only the weapons of the enemies you fought surrounding the floor around you.

"I do not wish for needless death. You are useful. You are talented." It explains, coming closer, but not nearing the trebuchet as much as you would wish. You want to drive a sword through its chest, but can do no such thing at such a distance- so you just listen, getting to your feet and grabbing the nearest weapon you can. "But you are not submitting. You are too prideful to ever truly submit. Do you have any last words?"

"You should learn, my dear, that there is always a proper time and place for an evil monologue." Your voice does not waver, working with years of experience hiding your fear in the face of those that wished to do you harm. "When your opponent wishes for you to keep talking, you do not indulge them. Though I can hardly complain."

You reach out and hit your staff against the crank of the trebuchet, watching it slowly begin to unravel as the darkspawn closes in on you. But it gets distracted, as the stone is sent flying, and you take the moment with as much gracefulness as you can muster.

You are running, weapon forgotten, and by the time the darkspawn realizes you are gone, it is far too late to follow.

iv. names (whatisyourname?)

You do not remember your name.

There are many things you do not remember- the color of your eyes, the face of anyone- but the fact that you do not remember your name frightens you the most. Names carry everything, reputation, history, meaning, and without yours, you are no one.

You head north, when you wake. It is not a decision based on prior knowledge, but simply the direction you woke up facing- you could not tell which direction civilization was in in such a storm, so you pick, and you walk.

You pick, and you pray.

v. healers

The Chantry sisters cannot decide what is wrong with you. If perhaps you misused your magic, and were punished by the Maker for it, if you were ambushed on the side of the road, they do not know who you are in this little town. A sick child starts to call you Mary, visiting with flowers every now and again- she says it's a simple name, it was her sister's name, and her sister was kind like you are.

You have only a single word for them, as you stare into the distance, something on the plain wall forcing your attention to it. The wall shows fire and red and dragons, as you slowly come to remember what put you in such a situation. The word is a whisper, a shaky exhale as the memories of the night return to you.

"Corypheus."

You speak nothing else.

vi. strangers

There is a blond man and a red-headed woman staring at you, the former a Ferelden and the latter Orlesian. Something strikes you as familiar in both of them, as they watch you lift yourself into a seated position.

"Madame de Fer?"

Is that your name?

They take you to Skyhold- it is Haven's replacement, they say that as if you know where your Haven is- and show you to your quarters. It is not a room that offers much privacy, but you do not mind, as the balcony lets in the cool air and gives a view of the entire front of the hold.

Something in your mind points out to you that you are able to see a small sliver of mountain above the walls, enough to see an army coming if need be. You do not know why that is important to you, but it is, and you will not forget it.

vii. visitors

An elf visits you on the first day, quiet, apologetic. He talks of how he should have been the one to face Corypheus, not you. How it was his job as the herald, the Inquisitor, now, to be the one to do such things. He shouldn't put his friends in danger just because his hand was important.

You assure him that you had your own reasons, and in the quiet of your mind admit to yourself that they were probably good reasons, even if you can not remember them.

He assures you that he'll do better next time, and leaves you to your rest.

More people come and give apologies- a Seeker that looks at you with pity, a dwarf and a Tevinter altus that come with a good mood and good wine. There is an elf that you do not remember, but seem to have a rather antagonistic relationship with- banter aside, however, you come to realize that both she and you care for one another.

But four days into your return to the Inquisition, you are caught.

"Madame de Fer?"

You look, for that is the only name the majority have referred to you as. Everyone has nicknames for you, Iron Lady and ma'am and bitch, but none have spoken your real name to you and so Madame de Fer is the only way you continue to refer to yourself.

The man who speaks your name is obviously an apostate, and his terrible fashion sense, his hesitance to greet you in the previous four days, and his quiet tone make you on edge. Not enemies, you do not feel hatred toward the elf, but... you wish you knew his name.

"Good evening, my dear. Please, take a seat."

Words you have spoken often, addressing people without using names you have forgotten. But he tilts his head and moves forward, accepting the offered seat and resting his staff against the back of the chair, silent.

"How have you been adjusting to Skyhold?"

"It is better than Haven, I'll give it that."

The Inquisitor had joked about how Skyhold should be up to your standards, compared to Haven, and you took that information and held on to it as best as possible. He seems to hum and nod in response before continuing,

"And your memory?"

viii. memories

Back straight, eyes forward. You still, and meet his gaze, despising the look of pity and- is that guilt?- that is plastered on it. But you do not let him know he got to you. You do not admit defeat.

"It is still quite in tact, my dear."

"Then what is my name?" He asks, not rude in his pressing, not meaning to hurt you. You try to push in your memory, but no names come to mind, no recollection of times spent with this elf. Is he your superior? Were you supposed to stop organizing and bow to him? Who was this man? "A name of anyone else that has visited you?"

"There was the demon Cole." You offer weakly, knowing that he knows you only recall the name because Cole knew your pain.

"The others do not notice, they are blinded by their own guilt, and cannot bear the thought of you being any more hurt." He explains, watching as you slowly break down and not saying anything about it. "I am Solas. We did not like each other, but we respected one another."

"The Inquisitor's name is Mahanon Lavellan. He is also the Herald of Andraste. He enjoys picking herbs, sparring with everyone he can possibly convince, and watching the halla roam."

The Inquisitor smiles when you address him by name- last name, not first- because no one else does anymore. You vaguely recall the fact that he and you once sparred, and that you taught him how to fight against someone with magic by letting someone get close enough to breach your defenses.

"Sera is a Red Jenny. Do you remember what that is?" You nod. "She is crass and rude at times, but she cares deeply about everything, and everyone."

The blonde laughs when she catches you putting a live hawk in the Commander’s office after you lost a chess match against him, and she is there for the exact reason you are. She talks of how you are not as uptight of a bitch as she thought you were, and gives you a slap on the shoulder before continuing with her own practical joke, pushing a desk as you close the door behind yourself.

"The Iron Bull is afraid of you. No one knows the full extent of why that is."

That sounds right.

ix. krem

The Iron Bull grins when you ask to spar with his group, and you fall into a comfortable pace as you and he go against the rest of the Chargers. It is a familiar pattern- cast a barrier around Bull, attack with your own spells, heal the two of you, repeat. The Bull offers a spot at the Chargers' table for drinks, if you want to take it.

You ask Solas if that is something you would do before, and he simply shrugs, saying that people change. What you wish to do now should determine whether you go or not.

There is a nice lad by the name of Cremisius Aclassi at the table that night, and he is rightly afraid of you, polite when you first sit. The Chargers realize that you can drink all but Grim under the table and accept you into their circle.

Behind Skinner, Krem is the most disappointed in his lack of talent in drinking, but the disappointment quickly turns to praise as he realizes your skill. He accepts loss with dignity, laughing it off and sitting slightly closer to you for the rest of the night. But something feels off, as his hands start to try and acquaint themselves with your body, as he pushes you on the bed and tries to figure out how to get the rather complicated armor off. It feels... wrong, like a betrayal against a man you do not know.

He takes it in stride, says the offer is there if you ever want it, and escorts you to your room as gentlemanly as a drunken fool can. But he does not leave automatically, and his slight hesitance to make sure you are okay has you crumbling, a sobbing, drunken mess as you admit that you know you have a lover but do not know who he is, where he is, you do not even know his name.

You do not even know your own name.

"That's easy, you're Lady Vivienne. First Enchanter of Orlais.”

And like that, you know what you have to do.

x. remembering

After two weeks, you have given up on being a solitary woman. You ask the Iron Bull for help (Krem by your side, holding your hand in comfort you will deny ever accepting) in remembering yourself and he accepts, only asking about who else is allowed to know. No questions, only concern.

You tell him of Cole and Solas and Krem, of how you would not mind if the Nightingale found out- you think to yourself that she probably already knows- and who you would like to eventually tell. The Inquisitor must be told of the disability in his Inner Circle- Bull shakes his head at that, telling you it isn’t a disability, just a part of your life you have to work through. You add more people to the list, as well. Dorian is kind and, though you would never admit it, a friend, a similar upper-class soul amongst Ferelden dwellers. Sera, despite her upbringing and personality, genuinely cares for you. She has to know eventually.

The Iron Bull sits down on your left, Krem on your right, as you tell those you consider your friends what has happened. They apologize for not realizing and strive to do better, telling you things so casually as you assimilate yourself into Skyhold properly.

“You despised the songs in the tavern at Haven” brings memories of bad stew and worse drink, but also of happier times and faked disgust at where you were.

“You were going to promote my newest book throughout Orlais” graces Varric with a smirk, one that brings back emotions of their own, of triumph and wit and ambition. He confirms that he is messing with you, and you keep it to yourself that you knew that. That you remember.

You remember Sera putting itching powder in your horns, and get her back by impaling spiders on the tip of every one of her arrows.

You remember gossiping with Josephine and Leliana, and set up a tea date for the weekend. They both seem thrilled.

You remember the beginning of your time in the Circle, and do not stand in the same room as Cullen for a week.

Sun and lessons and crushes and parties and lessons and windows and solitary and parties and the sky breaking open all come to mind, and sometimes it is overwhelming. Other times, it frees you.

You remember Bastien, and are not seen for a month.

Laughing and drinking and banter and pride and Pride and falling and demons and despair and hope and magic and lessons and... friends. A newer memory, one you treasure greatly. One you have not had ever before in your life.

Back straight. Heels click. Eyes forward. The world is falling around you, or are you rising, as you follow the Inquisitor to the Red Magister that Should Not Be Alive, as devoted as ever to the cause. The monster’s echoes surround you and taunt you but you say nothing, balancing with your staff as the ground shakes and threatens to knock you over. You stay standing.

Facing against this monster once before, you remember that. Winning against it comes to mind as well. And in that moment, as the sky lashes out and magic is at its strongest, you plan to create a new memory. Back straight, heels click, eyes forward.

In that moment, you plan to win.


End file.
